The Hungry   part 1
by blackthumbnipples
Summary: The heart is a lonely hunter.
1. Chapter 1

The battle for Winterfell had been fought months ago now, and while the Boltons and Freys had been vanquished, winter had been the ultimate victor, raging on and trapping them in the broken castle. They'd been waiting for a reprieve in the snowfall before starting a trek south, sending men out every month, but ominously, none of the scouts had made it back to Winterfell.

Asha took her place just below the dais; Stannis' men liked to keep her well in sight at all times._As if ...what, exactly?, _Asha thought archly_. As if I were going to sail out of here on a crystal ship made of ice?_She shifted her bored look from the northern knights who shared her table to Stannis seated upon the dais. _Does he ever stop grinding his fucking teeth, the squinting jackass?_ A surly contempt made her lips curl ever so slightly as she watched him give one of his men a curt talking-to. She thanked the Drowned God again that he found her an abomination. She couldn't imagine who would be the more repulsed of them, had they been forced into any sexual relations, be it noble marriage or rape. _One and the same, with that one._ Asha motioned for the serving boy to refill her cup with ale.

"I think you've had enough, Lady Greyjoy", one of the northern knights at her table spoke up in his constricted, high-pitched voice. Asha let her hooded eyes lie on him for a moment and then belched, loudly. The knight made a sour face at her affront. She could hear Qarl's laugh coming from the table behind her. Since her capture, she hadn't been able to touch him with more than a graze of a couple of fingers, once when he passed her. Even, now, they wouldn't seat her to face him. But his laughter buoyed her spirits, just as if she had felt the warmth of his hand on her.

If they had sat her next to him, she would have had him right there, on the spot. If she had to fuck half the room afterwards as punishment for having put on such a lewd display, she didn't care. As long as she could first have Qarl inside her one more time.

Denied a view of Qarl, Asha turned toward the unobstructed view of her other touchstone, her brother. She peered over her cup of ale at her him across the room. Theon had chosen to drink his ale at a spot furthest away from the others, at the back of the great hall. But no distance was far enough to keep her brother's harassers away. The northmen, she understood, had a loathing for him; but the wilding's dislike of him had been a surprise to her. Theon ignored the wilding woman who was leering at him, upbraiding and mocking him to the the others. His response to her crowding him was to hunch down lower over his wooden cup like an old rickety dog guarding his last bone; his unkempt white hair, hiding his face.

Unbidden, Asha felt a pang of the familiar and unpleasant past; one that she and Theon had both experienced on Pyke, growing up with their two older brothers. The scene playing out before her with Theon and the wilding woman reminded her of how he, as a child, had reacted to Maron's cruel taunting and japes. She remembered the convoluted mix of feelings she had about Theon then, as his sister, 4 years older and much tougher than he. Theon had made her both sad and mad at his reactions to Maron's meanness... His little shoulders would slump at Maron's onsaught, and his head would dip; he would curl into himself. And she would feel anger at him, overriding any anger at Maron or empathy she had for her little brother, so slight and shy._ Hit him!_, she would think. _Split his lip open! Throw your cup and blacken his eye! Do _something_! Don't just sit there like a rabbit and try to make yourself invisible!_She had learned early on with her big brothers that showing any signs of weakness only ramped up their predatory instincts. In their childhood, her attitude toward Theon had slowly turned to disgust and then contempt, over time. He would never learn, he's too soft; he will perish.

Now, as a woman grown, and in possession of a great amount of unwanted knowledge, she could not help but feel a nagging ache of sympathy for him, deep in her core. He was, and always will be, her baby brother. She watched as the wilding woman, who had slipped behind Theon, draped herself over his back and pretended to fuck him like a dog. The chains on Asha's fetters clinked softly as she shifted in her seat. She saw Theon push the table forward, knocking over his ale in his haste, and haul himself up on unstable feet to lurch away from the woman and her crowd as fast as he could. As he made his way out of the hall, he lifted his head only once, in her direction. Their eyes met briefly before he lowered his head again and slipped out of the hall. Asha, stonefaced, watched the white of his hair as it disappeared in the crowd gathered just outside the hall entrance.


	2. The Hungry part 2

The battle for Winterfell had been fought months ago now, and while the Boltons and Freys had been vanquished, winter had been the ultimate victor, raging on and trapping them in the broken castle. They'd been waiting for a reprieve in the snowfall before starting a trek south, sending men out every month, but ominously, none of the scouts had made it back to Winterfell.

Asha took her place just below the dais; Stannis' men liked to keep her well in sight at all times._As if ...what, exactly?, _Asha thought archly_. As if I were going to sail out of here on a crystal ship made of ice?_She shifted her bored look from the northern knights who shared her table to Stannis seated upon the dais. _Does he ever stop grinding his fucking teeth, the squinting jackass?_ A surly contempt made her lips curl ever so slightly as she watched him give one of his men a curt talking-to. She thanked the Drowned God again that he found her an abomination. She couldn't imagine who would be the more repulsed of them, had they been forced into any sexual relations, be it noble marriage or rape. _One and the same, with that one._ Asha motioned for the serving boy to refill her cup with ale.

"I think you've had enough, Lady Greyjoy", one of the northern knights at her table spoke up in his constricted, high-pitched voice. Asha let her hooded eyes lie on him for a moment and then belched, loudly. The knight made a sour face at her affront. She could hear Qarl's laugh coming from the table behind her. Since her capture, she hadn't been able to touch him with more than a graze of a couple of fingers, once when he passed her. Even, now, they wouldn't seat her to face him. But his laughter buoyed her spirits, just as if she had felt the warmth of his hand on her.

If they had sat her next to him, she would have had him right there, on the spot. If she had to fuck half the room afterwards as punishment for having put on such a lewd display, she didn't care. As long as she could first have Qarl inside her one more time.

Denied a view of Qarl, Asha turned toward the unobstructed view of her other touchstone, her brother. She peered over her cup of ale at her him across the room. Theon had chosen to drink his ale at a spot furthest away from the others, at the back of the great hall. But no distance was far enough to keep her brother's harassers away. The northmen, she understood, had a loathing for him; but the wilding's dislike of him had been a surprise to her. Theon ignored the wilding woman who was leering at him, upbraiding and mocking him to the the others. His response to her crowding him was to hunch down lower over his wooden cup like an old rickety dog guarding his last bone; his unkempt white hair, hiding his face.

Unbidden, Asha felt a pang of the familiar and unpleasant past; one that she and Theon had both experienced on Pyke, growing up with their two older brothers. The scene playing out before her with Theon and the wilding woman reminded her of how he, as a child, had reacted to Maron's cruel taunting and japes. She remembered the convoluted mix of feelings she had about Theon then, as his sister, 4 years older and much tougher than he. Theon had made her both sad and mad at his reactions to Maron's meanness... His little shoulders would slump at Maron's onsaught, and his head would dip; he would curl into himself. And she would feel anger at him, overriding any anger at Maron or empathy she had for her little brother, so slight and shy._ Hit him!_, she would think. _Split his lip open! Throw your cup and blacken his eye! Do _something_! Don't just sit there like a rabbit and try to make yourself invisible!_She had learned early on with her big brothers that showing any signs of weakness only ramped up their predatory instincts. In their childhood, her attitude toward Theon had slowly turned to disgust and then contempt, over time. He would never learn, he's too soft; he will perish.

Now, as a woman grown, and in possession of a great amount of unwanted knowledge, she could not help but feel a nagging ache of sympathy for him, deep in her core. He was, and always will be, her baby brother. She watched as the wilding woman, who had slipped behind Theon, draped herself over his back and pretended to fuck him like a dog. The chains on Asha's fetters clinked softly as she shifted in her seat. She saw Theon push the table forward, knocking over his ale in his haste, and haul himself up on unstable feet to lurch away from the woman and her crowd as fast as he could. As he made his way out of the hall, he lifted his head only once, in her direction. Their eyes met briefly before he lowered his head again and slipped out of the hall. Asha, stonefaced, watched the white of his hair as it disappeared in the crowd gathered just outside the hall entrance.


End file.
